Faal Sen Voth Dovah Sos
by ashtheking
Summary: A camping trip to a local forest changes everything for Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Can finding out the destiny bestowed upon him, one inherent in his blood, change things for the young wizard-to-be?
1. 1 - Jaald ahrk Bormah

**Authors Note:**

Drem Yol Lok, dii braan joor_. Hello, everyone. My name is _Ashtheking_, as all of you know. I've written a couple stories in the past, namely _By the Light of the Moon_, a Percy Jackson fanfic. Let me start off by saying that while I had planned to re-write it (indeed, I have notes and plans laying around on my computer here somewhere), Percy Jackson just doesn't hold much of an appeal for me anymore, and I personally find the story I wrote terrible in terms of quality. If anyone wants to adopt it, I'd be glad to beta it, and offer my advice and story plans via PM, but I just don't see myself continuing it. So message me if you want to adopt it. If you want to express your displeasure, review the fanfic, I get emailed whenever you do._

_Now, let me tell you about this fanfic. This was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment idea that just popped into my head one day, and refused to go away. So I decided to type it up and post it, to see what you guys thought. The basic premise is that Harry Potter learns Thu'ume, and applies them to surviving against the Dark Lord. That's all I'll say for now, though keep in mind that I try not to make my characters overpowered, and I like to make worlds mesh together as much as possible._

**As always, please read, review, and recommend!**

* * *

_**Faal Sen Voth Dovah Sos**_

It was, unfortunately, not a completely ordinary day for the residents of 4 Privet Drive, who prided themselves on being ordinary and normal.

Their son, and their great joy, one Dudley Dursley (who was sometimes mistaken for a pig in a wig) had announced that he and his friends wanted to go camping, "because it's cool". The Dursleys, always ready to do what their son wanted, immediately purchasing the necessary gear to do so. They packed up the supplies, and scheduled the outing for the nearest weekend, which had come around. By all rights, the family should be joyfully preparing for the trip.

However, instead of being joyful, the parents Dudley Dursley, Vernon and Petunia, were actually quite distressed. The reason for their distress was the _other_ resident of 4 Privet Drive, who they usually liked to pretend didn't exist, one Harry James Potter, who was all of 9 years old, and rather unimposing.

"What do you mean Mrs. Figg is sick?" Vernon Dursley, who was a rather large man, nearly bellowed. The reason for his distress was simple, in his mind. His no-good nephew-in-law usually stayed with the local cat lady, Arabella Figg, when his normal family went out for any reason. His wife, Petunia, responded "You heard what I said, Vernon. She tripped over one of her cats and fell. She's in the hospital for the next few days. She can't take the boy."

Vernon, who was struggling to keep his temper, responded "What about that friend of yours. Mary, was it?" Petunia pursed her lips together, "Her name is Marilyn. And even if I wanted to let her know about the brat, she's gone for the summer, visiting the Caribbean."

Vernon turned and bellowed. "BOY! GET OVER HERE, NOW!" The boy in question, the aforementioned Harry James Potter, appeared from the cupboard under the stairs. Unlike what one might expect, Harry wasn't cleaning, or playing a game, or grabbing supplies from said cupboard. You see, the cupboard was where he lived, and had lived for as long as he could remember.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked timidly. Vernon took a few breaths, trying, and failing, to control his temper. "You're coming with us. I suppose you'd be useful in obtaining firewood, and hauling around the tent. Now go grab your things and get in the car."

* * *

Harry was very happy, at the moment. He never got to go on any kind of trip before, mainly because his cousin Dudley whined about having _him_ along. But even Dudley couldn't get Harry out of this trip, as not a single one of the Dursleys' contacts were available to babysit him. It was the chance of a lifetime, and Harry mentally thanked whoever gave him the opportunity.

The Dursleys and the Polkisses, who were there to escort the rest of Dudley's gang to the camping ground, arrived there early in the afternoon. Throughout the entire trip, Harry, who was sitting in the back with Dudley and Piers Polkiss, was kicked and punched whenever Vernon and Petunia weren't looking. Despite that, Harry was still excited to be going on the trip. The rest of the gang was in the Polkisses car. Mrs. Polkiss, who drove them there, left quickly after arriving, thanking Ms. Dursley for volunteering to chaperone the kids.

_I can explore a forest!_ Harry thought happily. _It can't be _that_ hard to escape Dudley's gang in such a place. Maybe then I can find some animals, and see some huge trees. It's going to be quite fun!_

Uncle Vernon actually helped him out, in that regard. He took the young boy aside and told him clearly. "I want no funny business, you understand, boy? You keep away from the rest of these respectable young men, and don't bring them any trouble. Go gather some firewood, and don't come back until sundown. I've heard there are bears in these woods, boy. Maybe one will eat you, and take you off my hands." He chortled at that, and waved him off in the opposite direction of Dudley. Harry happily complied.

* * *

Harry wandered throughout the forest, picking up some dry twigs and branches that he found on the ground, about three quarters of a mile from the Dursleys' camp. He was following a butterfly, which flitted around to and fro with no care in the world. At least, that's how it looked to the nine year old.

Suddenly, ahead of him, he saw a man. At least, he thought it was a man, as it was hard to tell at this distance. The figure was clothed in golden robes which looked very regal. The man was facing away from the young boy, and was glowing with a soft but still blinding golden light, which felt warm and peaceful, like the sun on a summer day.

Harry must have made a sound, because the figure gave a half turn, his face still hidden from the boy at this distance and lighting. He made a motion as if asking Harry to follow him, and started walking briskly through the forest. Harry grabbed a few of the sticks that had fallen and dashed after him, managing to keep up with the being.

Harry and the man traveled like this for about five to ten minutes, moving from tree to tree. In all, the total distance covered should have been about a quarter of a mile.

* * *

Far away, in the office of a powerful wizard, who was currently traveling through the hallways of his school, a device which was set up eight years ago to monitor the location of Harry Potter started, ticking awkwardly for a second as the boy moved over thirty miles in the course of seven and a half minutes. With no magical activity detected in the area, the powerful spells cast upon the device treated it as an accident, and the alarm was not set off.

* * *

The man walked into a clearing, stopping in front of a rather large curved rock formation. Harry was running behind him, and almost ran into the figure. Turning, he faced the boy.

Harry gasped, for the man had the head of a dragon. Suddenly, the light surrounding the man increased, and a powerful aura of power was felt in the clearing. The light became almost blinding, as the dragon-man opened his maw and spoke.

_"Blessed be ye, my child. Take mine blessing, and prove thyself worthy of more in time."_

The Man/Dragon then vanished with an additional burst of light. Harry realized he was on his knees, clutching his bundle of sticks like a lifeline. He also realized he had a slight golden aura surrounding him, which was fading rapidly.

Suddenly he heard a roar.

Glancing around, Harry failed to see anything. His blood sang, a primal war song chanting in the back of his head, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. He heard a second roar, and a voice from his subconscious cried out. _Watch the skies, traveler_.

Looking upward, he gasped and dropped his bundle, the sticks scattering haphazardly, an entire afternoon's worth of work forgotten in sheer, _primal_, terror. The fear one obtains when faced with a super predator, the kind mankind once felt daily.

The terror produced by a Dragon.

The beast encircled him, roaring out again, causing birds to fly away from distant trees. The dragon was huge, at least ten times as big as Uncle Vernon, let alone him. It was gray, with tattered wings that still held it aloft.

It did a final spiral before touching down upon the rock the Dragon-Man disappeared in front of, rearing up to flap its' wings once before peering its' head down toward Harry. The dragon's head moved down, stopping about a half a foot in front of Harry. He stumbled backward, terrified, holding his arms out for balance, and fell to the ground. The Dragon cocked its head in a half turn, and opened its' maw. It then spoke, in an old and guttural voice.

_"Am? Hi los joor sen, voth kogaan nol dii Bormah, ahrk… Faal Dovah-Sos? Ko daar Bok? Eh, Zu'u sahrx. Drem yol lok, Zu'u Paarthurnax."_

* * *

**Authors Note:**

Well, I hope you liked the story so far, and kudos to those who recognized the "Dragon Man" when he was first introduced. I hope it made it clear enough when I revealed his face. If not, you'll find out next chapter. Tell me in the reviews what you think about the story, and suggestions for what should happen. A lot of things will be made clear next chapter, if you don't understand the Draconic. I personally find [Thu'um dot org] very useful in that regard, both for reading and writing Dovahzul.

Edit [3/10/14]: Minor nitpicks due to my reviewers pointing out flaws. Thanks!


	2. 2 - Dovah ahrk Mudozaan

**Authors Note:**

Drem Yol Lok, dii braan joor_. Hello, everyone. Ashtheking here once again, with the first of my many (hopefully) weekly updates. I'm pleased at how many people have already read this story, and the number of followers and favorites grows daily. I don't have anything much to say, so I'll now respond to the reviews._

Spirit of the Aces57: _Thanks. I'm retroactively changing it from "my style" to "I insult". I was going for "manners", originally. Essentially, I meant "Ah, my manners!" _

Arselbengt:_ Thank you for catching that. It's easy to miss something that simple, and I'm happy someone caught it and informed me. I've changed it now._

Ddragon21: _I haven't planned that out too much, and what I have planned out will be covered shortly, but both of them pity them more than anything, in my current plans. It's a long way's away, so I don't want to give away that much already._

Bernard Karp:_ I would as well, but the sentence at the bottom was purposefully un-translated for plot purposes. It'll be translated in-story this chapter and most dovahzul will be translated either in story or at the bottom._

Aria-chanforever: _Bonjour! Merci, monsieur (madame?), j'essaie. Le dragon était le second, comme vous le verrez dans ce chapitre. Pardonnez mon français, que ma grammaire est terrible malgré trois années d'études._

Sam: _As far as I can tell, he is generally portrayed with the head of a dragon and the body of man, when he does not appear in Nirn as a giant flaming dragon to stop Mehrunes Dagon, of course. In any case, thanks for the compliment. _

Colin0513:_ I try not to bash any characters; it seems unbefitting of a good writer to do such a thing. I try to keep to their original personalities as much as I can, even if I'm not that good of a writer in my own opinion. I have no particular love of Ron Weasley, I'll admit, and Dumbledore is a powerful manipulator, but I don't hate them, as I can understand their personalities to some extent._

Dark Neko 4000:_ This chapter. In all seriousness, I try not to spoil things, but the general plan is to finish through the plot of the __Philosopher's Stone__, before I decide whether to make each book a separate fanfic or not. _

_Thanks for the reviews, I enjoyed them. I won't be as comprehensive in responding to reviews in later chapters, but I will answer ones with questions I haven't previously answered or points I hadn't considered._

**As always, please read, review, and recommend!**

* * *

_**Faal Sen Voth Dovah Sos**_

The words resounded in Harry Potter's mind, as the dragon peered down upon the small boy.

The war drums beating at the back of Harry's increased their tempo, pounding out a feral and majestic tone that resonated in his blood, crying out in challenge.

Harry wanted to attack the dragon.

No, that wasn't quite right.

Harry wanted to _slay_ the dragon (_dovah_, his mind whispered), to meet the beast in glorious combat, and best him. He wanted to prove his superiority and his dominance, and establish who the greater being was. His very flesh was urging him, his hands twitching and curling, grabbing the grass as if it were a weapon.

A greater part of his mind, though, pointed out to him that he was a small and scrawny nine year old boy, with arms as thin as reeds and no muscles to speak of apart from what was developed from a lifetime of running away from Dudley.

His mind also pointed out that although the dragon looked old, and his wings were somewhat tattered, he was still a _dragon_ (_dovah,_ his mind insisted.) He was a lot bigger than Uncle Vernon, and had claws and teeth that could rip him apart before he could even _move_.

Harry's mind (and self preservation instinct) won out over the song, and he took a deep (and terrified!) breath. The song died down in his head, becoming a soft chant in the background.

The dragon peered at him with what looked to be amusement on its face. It opened its mouth and spoke again.

"_Krosis._ I forgot how difficult it must be, for a _joor sen_ of your _Bok_ to resist the call of the _Dovah-Sos._ The _Lovaas _calls deeply to all of the _Dov_, but it is confusing to one without a _Dovah Sil_."

Harry finally found his breath, and his voice. In a shaky tone, he responded "So-sorry? I do-don't understand what you mean."

The dragon was most definitely amused at this point, judging by the expression on its' face. It made a low growling sound, which, Harry realized with a start, was a sort of laugh.

"_Vrah_, yes, in this age, which has lost itself to the Gods, none would know of the _Dovah-Sos_, let alone the _Lovaas_. Ah, again I ramble. Let us do _tinvaak_, Conversation. I am _Paarthurnax_."

Harry's mind whispered to him. _Ambition – Overlord – Cruelty_, it translated. Harry responded. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

The dragon (Paarthurnax) blinked once, and threw his head back in an unmistakable laugh. Shaking his head as he once again looked at Harry, he spoke. "So, the _Pogaankul_ of the _Laat Dovahkiin_ stands before me at last. Truly, my _Bormah_ finds amusement in repetition. My _Mudozaan_ kept track of her offspring, even as the world changed. None have displayed the reactions of the _Lovaas_ as you in a century."

Harry, who understood maybe half of the strange non-English words in the conversation, was confused. Not only in part because he didn't know how he did understand the words.

"You know me, because I'm the childof someone called the Last Dragon?"

The dragon snorted, a puff of smoke coming out of his nostrils. "Impressive, _joor sen_. But you are not scaled and winged, despite what the _Lovaas_ tells you. You are the descendant of the _Dovahkiin._ The Dragonborn, as it would be called in your tongue. The _Mudozaan_, the Greybeards, kept track of her children over the ages. You are a child of clan Potter, with the _Dovah-Sos_. Who else could you be but the descendant of her youngest son?"

Harry was startled, and stuttered out "You… you knew my family?" As far as he knew from Uncle Vernon, his dad was a good for nothing drunk, and his mom was a bitch and a whore. He didn't know what those last two were, but he knew it was bad.

Paarthurnax frowned draconically, and spoke. "Not personally, _sen_. The Greybeards, members of an Order dedicated to peaceful usage of the _Thu'um_, kept track of all those who held the _Dovah-Sos_. Three lines were known, back in the age of the _Dovahkiin_. She had three sons, all of whom inherited the _Dovah-Sos_, but none with the _Dovah-Sil_. The family named Potter gained the _Dovah-Sos_ near the first of the kings of this land, when Alana Jorgensen, who was _do sos_, of the blood, married Garen Potter. They were tracked descendants of the Dovahkiin through her last son. From what I understand, their son gained nobility in one of the _Kein_ that occurred upon this land."

Harry was ecstatic, for this dragon knew more of his family than anyone else he knew. He asked excitedly "Can you tell me anything else about them? My dad was James Potter, and my mum was Lily."

Paarthurnax frowned again, but looked sadly upon the excited boy. "_Krosis_, _sen_. Sorry, boy. I know not much about them. The ways of _Lahzey_ are hard to observe." The dragon then blinked, and seemed to realize something.

"_Zu'u fon wah lost sizaan vahrukt ko dii Bok._ I forget my reasons, and drift among the currents of _tinvaak_. You, _sen_ Harry, how be it that you possess the blessing of _dii Bormah_? This age has forgotten the Nine, and even the Seventeen walk unnoticed. Yet here I find you, a young _joor_, holding the King Blessing. Did you stumble upon a forgotten shrine, _sen_?"

Harry was confused, and said as such. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Paarthurnax."

The dragon snorted amusedly. "_Zu'u Paarthurnax_, child, I am not a Mister. If you wish to address me, call me as the _Mudozaan_ do, and know me as _In_. But I speak of the blessing of Akatosh which surrounds you." The dragon peered at him, leaned in close, and took a sniff.

Harry's mind translated the term in the meantime. _In_. Master. Something in him snarled at that, but he forced it down. It was just a title, after all.

"_Nid_, this is no shrine blessing. The last I felt this_,_" here the dragon peered up in remembrance, "was the closing of the Third Age, when the Daedra were banished by _dii Bormah_ and his blessing bestowed upon the Hero who aided him. _Geh_, the blessing lasted for his lifetime upon this plane."

Harry then realized that the wise old dovah was probably talking about the glow that he had on his skin just before Paarthurnax arrived. He spoke up.

"Erm, _In_ Paarthurnax, do you mean the glow I got from the Dragon-Man?"

The dragon in question, who was pondering the thought with his head up in the air, swiveled around so fast it would have broken a human neck.

"You speak of a Dragon-Man? Do you perchance mean a human with the head of a _Dovah_?"

Harry responded affirmatively.

Paarthurnax opened his eyes as wide as possible, and started peering around the area. He made a startled gasping sound, and spoke. "_Dii bormah lost silkun het. Los rok Hun? Ko daar tiid? Faal Kel, nid ren. Fos qostiid aak mok? Waan dii bormah worax nii vost wah gestahdim mok, ahrk drun zey het... Nii los dii heyv wah frey mok. Hmm... MUDOZAAN!_"

The last word was Shouted to the sky, the very cry shaking the earth beneath Harry's feet. The word translated itself naturally to him, ringing in his very flesh. _Greybeard_, it meant.

The forest was silent for a minute after that, Paarthurnax shaking his head slightly. Suddenly a loud –CRACK- sounded out.

* * *

Far away, in the office of a wise old wizard, there exist instruments meant to monitor any wizardry preformed around one Harry James Potter, the savior of the Wizarding World. It was critical toward keeping him protected that they work at all times. The wizard who created them kept track of them as much as possible. Sadly, he was having dinner with his pupils when the unthinkable happened. They stopped working.

A faint golden glow started emanating from them, before stopping. The power of the King of the Nine changed them, making them ignore any who could use the _Thu'um_, which in this era meant only the _Dovah_ and the _Mudozaan_.

* * *

To the left of Harry, on the right of Paarthurnax, a cloaked man in a stately grey robe appeared out of thin air, the edges of his robe fluttering. He walked over to the dovah and bowed.

"_Drem Yol Lok, Paarthurnax_." The mystery man intoned in a formal manner. His voice had a cultured Nordic accent. "Why have you summoned us? Shall I call the rest here?"

Paarthurnax shook his head. "Inform them later, Bjorn. Feel this area, and tell me that I am not mistaken in my seeing."

The mystery man, Bjorn, who Harry figured was this Greybeard person, raised his arms, seemingly tracing patterns in the air.

"There is something here…. A tear in the dimensions, closed quite recently. I have never felt this before. What crossed? This presence is Daedric? No… It's an et'Ada, certainly, but…perhaps an Aedra? No, the power required for this… only The Nine could have made this. One of the Nine crossed onto Mundus? Gods above, did Mehrunes Dagon attack a minute ago or something and we missed it?"

Paarthurnax shook his head, and gestured with a wing toward Harry, who the man apparently hadn't noticed. "Look upon the _sen_. Tell me what you see."

The man came closer to Harry, and looked at him. He whispered something, and closed his eyes. This man, Bjorn, was about six feet tall, and had a black, if slightly graying, beard, with dark hair coming down to his shoulders in a ponytail. His eyes, which Harry saw before he closed them, were ocean blue.

His robes made Harry think of a monk or priest.

Bjorn spoke aloud, seemingly to himself. "Hmm… Well, I can feel the dragon blood, that's obvious enough, considering you're here, _In_. He's got a decent enough magicka level to be trained as a _Lahzey_. But that wouldn't be why you told me to look. Hmm, wait, there's something. Oh. Ooh. _Very_ interesting, this is. It's a blessing. Hmm… it's definitely of the Nine. I think I can figure it out. One second. Ah, is this… Auri-El? No, I've seen that one before. Is it Alkosh, maybe? That's not right. No, it seems to be all of them."

Bjorn's eyes snapped open. "But how can it be possible? It's Everlasting, as far as I can tell." He addressed Paarthurnax, turning away from Harry. Paarthurnax simply raised a draconic eye ridge, challenging him to figure it out.

Bjorn hummed, tilting his head slightly. He seemed to then realize something. His eyes bulged, and he turned to Paarthurnax sharply, before staring at Harry intently. "It… It can't be! But… to break His own Veil, and come to Mundus! It'd require insane events upon Nirn."

Bjorn's eyes then seemed to find the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead. As far as Harry knew, the scar was the remnant of the car crash that killed his parents. So he didn't know why Bjorn widened his eyes _further_, if possible, and started paling.

"No… Harry Potter? It has to be, with that scar and those eyes and hair. But, If He came here… The Dark Lord isn't truly dead, then… I can't believe it. A Hero? It's been millennia since the last, and that was the gods-be-damned _Dovahkiin_. What… Oh dear, this is not good."

Harry, who was very confused by all the terms that the man was spouting out, opened his mouth to ask how the man knew his name, and what his scar had to do with anything. Before he could, Bjorn turned to Paarthurnax, and spoke sharply in that strange language. Paarthurnax responded in turn.

"_Los Zu'u ges, In? Los rok Hun? Zu'u mindok ni fos voz rok vust kos. Mu kend delah mok."_

"_Zu'u krolur. Tinvaak hi, ahrk kuz mok wah ok vahlok. Nid ren rok lost stav siiv. Dii bormah ofan kogaan fent wadren tol."_

"_Do rahlo, In. Zu'u fund kos honored wah delah mok ko faal Strah do faal Su'um."_

"_Shur, ruz. Zu'u fent gun fod korasaal."_

"_In? Hi los dovah. Nust los ahminaal nuz ko faal Suburbs."_

"_Zu'u mindok pogaan zaan, goraan gein. Qiid hin zuwuth ahstiid."_

Bjorn nodded, at that. Smiling, he turned back to Harry, and spoke to him. "Forgive me, young one. My Master spoke to me, and so I listened. I have not yet introduced myself. Sorry. I am Bjorn Stormhold. I know who you are, of course. Harry Potter." He grinned. "I didn't expect to meet _you_, of all people, when my _in_ summoned me here. Come; let us walk back to your camp and talk."

Harry was very confused. "Wait, what? How do you know my name? I'm not going anywhere until you explain things, first, Mr. Stormhold."

Bjorn laughed, and sat down on a rock near Paarthurnax, who looked amused. "Very well, Harry. You want to know how I know your name. It's the scar."

Harry reached up to touch the scar. It prickled under his touch, sending a cold shiver down his spine. "I don't understand. I got this from the car crash that killed my parents!"

Bjorn looked angry. "James and Lily Potter, killed in a mundane car crash? As if. Is that the tripe that your guardians told you?"

Harry nodded, not wanting to make Bjorn angry. He was _scary_.

"I see. By the Nine, this is problematic. Hmm… Harry." He addressed Harry sharply. Harry responded quickly. "Yes, Mr. Stormhold?"

Bjorn gave a tentative grin, and asked a strange question. "What can you tell me about magic?"

Harry gave a small frown, and answered as best he could. "Erm… Uncle Vernon says there's no such thing as magic. I would believe him, but I'm talking to a person who appeared out of thin air, and a _dovah _- err, a _dragon_, after being given what is apparently a blessing from a Dragon-headed man who _glowed_ like the sun."

Bjorn laughed at that. "I suppose I can't fault that. But your guardians say magic doesn't exist?" Harry nodded. "Well, then. What do you call this?"

He stretched his arms out, and flame erupted from them, twisting and curling in the air in a stream.

Harry's eyes went wide. "Whoa! That's awesome! How did you do that?"

Bjorn chuckled. "I sent magicka through my hands, molding it into flame as it left. It's a simple Flames spell, though the majority of the Wizarding world doesn't know how to cast it. In any case, let's walk and talk."

He bowed low to Paarthurnax, saying "_Lok Thu'um, dii In_. Sky Above, Voice Within, my Master."

The dragon nodded his head back, repeating the farewell. "_Lok Thu'um_, Bjorn, Harry."

Paarthurnax then flapped his wings, once, twice, and flew away into the sky, heading north. He roared once, and quickly became a speck on the horizon.

Harry and Bjorn were left alone in the rock outcropping, in the midst of the forest. Bjorn gestured away. "Lead the way, young one. Where did you camp, out here in these secluded woods?"

Harry named the campsite, gathering the sticks he had collected from where they had fallen. Bjorn blinked, and spoke incredulously. "There? But that's nearly thirty miles away! How long did you walk?"

Harry was very confused. "I followed the Dragon-Man, Aka-whatever, for about 7 minutes. Before that, I was about ten minutes from the campsite."

Bjorn gave an "ah" of comprehension, before stretching his arms out. "I see. So Akatosh bent space. Or was it time. Hmm… Ah, found it. Oho. A portal disguised with an illusion. You'd need an Archmage to make a portal this powerful. Well, why not use it. Let's go."

He put his hands down, and made a "follow-me" gesture. "So, Harry. Tell me about your guardians."

* * *

As they neared the campsite, Bjorn looked very calm externally. On the inside, he was seething. _If even half of what Harry has told me is true, I would hold no qualms in sending them to the Deadlands, vow of non-aggression be damned. How they could treat a _child_, of their own blood no less, with such disdain and hatred is beyond me._

He then realized something. _No need to make them irritated. If I'm to secure Harry for tutoring in the Way of the Voice, then I must make them like me, as repugnant as it seems._

He held up his hand in the universal stop gesture, and asked Harry something. "Your uncle, he works for a drill company, yes?"

The young boy nodded, smiling at him. Bjorn discretely drew his wand from inside his robes with a flick of his hand. _While I could probably perform transfiguration in the old way, no need to take the chance of screwing up such a delicate process._

With another flick, his robes melted and shifted into a high-quality collared shirt, and formal pants. _I could go hiking in these, I suppose. It'd be silly, but as they say, first impressions count._

Harry was looking at him in awe. "Ah, yes. This is _Transfiguration_, a school of magic dedicated toward changing one object into another. This is fairly high level work, but I want to impress your uncle for something. Remember, Harry, not a word about Master Paarthurnax or Magic."

The boy nodded, and they walked into the camp. The sun was setting, and the orange-red glow of the sun worked with the cheery orange flames that flickered in the Dursley's campsite to make a picturesque scene.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were sitting on lawn chairs by the fire. Mrs. Dursley was reading a tabloid, while Mr. Dursley was heating up marshmallows on the flame. There were a multitude of brats sitting by one tent, playing with poker cards, and poking at any bugs that came by.

Mr. Dursley noticed the duo enter the campsite first, and got up. He shouted "There you are, boy! Do you have the sticks I told you to get! The fire is growing small, and it's your fault if it dies, you hear me?"

He then seemed to notice Bjorn. Taking in the higher quality clothes, his piggish eyes seemed to gleam with greed, to Bjorn. "Ah, excuse me. Who are you, my good man?"

Bjorn smiled gently. "Greetings, Mr. Dursley. My name is Bjorn Stormhold. I'm a professor at Oxford University. I was camping nearby. I found your nephew when I was out looking for wood, and kept him company on his way back." Reaching into his pocket, he discretely conjured a business card with the correct details on it. He wasn't lying about his profession, but he wasn't going to waste an actual card on this man. Better one that would disappear after a few hours.

Bjorn handed it to Mr. Dursley, who spoke. "Ah, I see. Thank you. Well, I hope he didn't cause you any trouble."

Bjorn gave a small laugh. "Nothing I wouldn't expect from a nine year old, my good man. I know how to handle kids. A firm and steady hand, with no tolerance for foolishness is the way to go. My old man taught me the same thing."

Mr. Dursley smiled, clearly pleased. He spoke again. "Well, my apologies for his distraction. Thank you for visiting." He waved him out, wanting to end the conversation so he could yell at the brat.

Bjorn smiled again. "It was nothing, my good man. If I may, sir, I was hoping I could ask a favor of you?"

Mr. Dursley gave a small frown. "What sort of favor, Mr. Stormhold?"

Bjorn gestured at Harry. "I require an assistant for some of my work. Someone to haul books around, and take notes when I'm planning lectures. I live on Magnolia Crescent, not that far from you."

The Dursley parents were frowning, with Mrs. Dursley having put down her magazine. She asked a question in a sharp tone. "What exactly do you study, Mr. Stormhold?"

Bjorn gave a disarming grin. "I study the old Nordic myths. The ones predating the Vikings, you know. I'm currently working on a thesis dictating how the 'magic' referred to in those stories is nothing more than good old fashioned science. Because, there's no such thing as _magic_, you know. I have a three year hiatus to work on the paper."

Mr. Dursley looked pleased. "Well, that seems nice. How long do you want the boy for?"

Bjorn pretended to misunderstand. "Oh, well, I was planning on borrowing him from 7:00 AM to 8:00 PM on weekdays. I do understand that it might be a bit much, however."

Mrs. Dursley looked excited. "Well, that seems alright, I suppose…."

Bjorn again pretended to misconstrue their sentence. "I'm willing to pay. Say… 20 pounds a week?"

Mr. Dursley jumped up and shook Bjorn's hand. "It's a deal, good sir. We'll send him on Monday, if that's alright with you."

Bjorn nodded, and addressed Harry. "Bring nothing, boy. I live on 47 Magnolia Crescent. I want to see you there at 7:00, sharp."

He then turned and walked away. Once he was a sufficient distance away that the sound would not be heard, he turned upon himself and vanished with a loud –CRACK-, disappearing into the night.

* * *

**Authors Note:**

_Well, that was a fun chapter to type. As promised above, here is the Draconic / Dovahzul that was not translated in the chapter proper._

* * *

_Krosis_ – Sorrow (Used as "sorry", or "apologies")

_joor sen_ – Mortal boy

_Bok – _Age

_Dovah-Sos _– Dragon Blood (They were known as the "Dragon Blood" emperors for a reason)

_Lovaas_ – Song (The war drums that play whenever you fight a dragon. More on this later)

_Dov_ – Dragon

_Dovah Sil_ – Dragon Soul (What makes a Dragonborn a Dragonborn)

_Pogaankul_ – Many-Son (Descendant)

_Bormah_ – Father (Refers to Akatosh, who all dragons claim as their father)

_Thu'um_ – Shouts (Self explanatory)

_Kein_ – Wars

_Lahzey_ – Mages / Wizards

_Zu'u fon wah lost sizaan vahrukt ko dii Bok_ - I seem to have lost memory in my Age ( I am forgetful in my old age)

_Dii_ – My

_Nid_ - No

_Geh_ - Yes  
_Dii bormah lost silkun het. Los rok Hun? Ko daar tiid? Faal Kel, nid ren. Fos qostiid aak mok? Waan dii bormah worax nii vost wah gestahdim mok, ahrk drun zey het... Nii los dii heyv wah frey mok. Hmm... MUDOZAAN!_ - My father has aura (presence) here. Is he (a) Hero? In this time? The Elder scrolls, no doubt. What prophecy guides him? If my father saw it fit to hallow him, and bring me here. .. It is my duty to aid him. Hmm... GREYBEARD!

_Drem Yol Lok_ – Peace Fire Sky (Used as a greeting [Your fire lies in peace])

_Los Zu'u ges, In? Los rok Hun? __Zu'u mindok ni fos voz rok vust kos. __Mu kend delah mok._ - Am I right, Master? Is he a Hero? I know not what else he could be. We must train him.

_Zu'u krolur. __Tinvaak hi, ahrk kuz mok wah ok vahlok. __Nid ren rok lost stav siiv. Dii bormah ofan kogaan fent wadren tol._ -I agree. Talk (Introduce) you (rself), and take him to his guardian. No doubt he has spells to find him. My father given (father's) blessing shall block that.

_Do rahlo, In. Zu'u fund Kos honored wah delah mok ko faal Strah do faal Su'um. _- Of course, Master. I would be honored to train him in the Way of the Voice.

_Shur, ruz. Zu'u fent gun fod korasaal._ - Go, then. I shall visit when possible.

_In? Hi los dovah. Nust los ahminaal nuz ko faal Suburbs._ - You are a dragon. They are noticeable in the Suburbs.

_Zu'u mindok pogaan zaan, goraan gein. Qiid hin zuwuth ahstiid._ - I know many shouts, young one. Ask your elders sometime.

* * *

_Hope this helps you understand the chapter better. I was very happy with all the reviews and favorites. Here's hoping I get many more over time! _

**As always, please read, review, and recommend! **


	3. 3 - Taazokaan ahrk Stav

**Authors Note:**

Drem Yol Lok, dii braan joor_. Hello, everyone. Ashtheking here once again, with the next update. Sorry for the late update, this chapter went through several iterations in my head, and before it knew it, Sunday was over. Sorry. As always, I'm delighted at the followers and favorites I get every day, so let me once again say thank you. I like some of the suggestions and comments that I've read in the reviews, though I must say that Alduin will not be making an appearance in this story in person. As far as I'm concerned, the Last Dragonborn took care of that guy, and he won't show up until the end of this kalpa, to perform his duties as World-Eater and bring about the next world. _

**As always, please read, review, and recommend!**

* * *

_**Faal Sen Voth Dovah Sos**_

"The first ones were brothers: Anu and Padomay. They came into the Void, and Time began.

As Anu and Padomay wandered the Void, the interplay of Light and Darkness created Nir. Both Anu and Padomay were amazed and delighted with her appearance, but she loved Anu, and Padomay retreated -." Harry paused as his teacher interrupted him.

"Not that one, kiddo. That's the Annotated Anuad. It's nice, but not what I wanted you to read. Grab that scroll. No, not _that_, the other scroll. Yes, read it out now, please." Bjorn Stormhold called out, looking up from his writings to guide his apprentice.

Harry opened the scroll in question, blinking once at the dust and crinkled paper, as if it hadn't been opened in a long time. He gave a questioning look toward his teacher.

Bjorn caught the look and gave an explanation. "There are more modern rewritings of the text, but I find it more useful to read the original when one has it in their possession. Now, stop dallying and read it."

Harry gave a sheepish grin, and started reading.

"Zok fautiid do lot Dovah Kren lost Ni mil naal Rah, nuz lost droz do Fahliilen krozahvok voth Zahreik do Lorkhan….

_The most recent of the great Dragon Breaks was not caused by the Gods, but was the result of Elven Interference with the Heart of Lorkhan. This was also the most noticeable of the Dragon Breaks, as the entirety of the world was changed, from the continents to the Aedra themselves. The Thalmor (see Reference Scroll 3, section 10), following the goals of the Aldmeri Dominion, were directly responsible for this Dragon Break. Their goal was to reclaim the glory of their ancestors, and ascend to godhood yet again. So they used the powers of the Earth Bones themselves, the remains of their ancestors the Ehlnofey, and the Heart of Lorkhan, which they had discovered deep within the seas of surrounding the Summerset Isle. They fashioned a great and terrible ritual, meant to send any truly loyal High Elf servant of the Aldmeri Dominion into godhood, by using the essence of these powerful artifacts. Instead, what they wrought was naught but horror. The Earth Bones shattered, disappearing into pieces which vanished before their very sight. The Heart of Lorkhan pulsed, a powerful vibration of raw magic linking every mortal soul in the realm to the chamber where this ritual was preformed. All of us watched in horror, as the very earth itself shouted a terrible cry of anguish, as the Heart Shattered, as we _felt_ the souls of every High Elf in existence who followed the Dominion was shredded and consigned to the Void. We returned to our bodies, and saw how the world changed. The world _twisted_, and _warped_, the very continents themselves moving and changing._

_Civilization disintegrated, as space twisted and grew, increasing the size of Tamriel into a larger plane. Akavir moved westward, smashing into Morrowind and the Black Marsh, even as Black Marsh moved northwest, rotating almost perpendicularly. Elsweyr rotated ever so slightly, the great river which flowed into the Imperial City closing, drying up and forming a new sea, depending on the region. Those seas would become the Caspian and the Black Sea. The famed continent of Pyandonea came northward, colliding with the Black Marsh and Elsweyr to form a large sea known today as the Mediterranean. Skyrim detached from the north, the cavern of Blackreach (found by the Dovahkiin in her quest for an Elder Scroll) causing massive faults along the province which separated into two isles north of the main continent, known today as the British Isles. The Continent of Atmora fell southward, a part of it forming the region of Scandinavia, while the rest became Greenland. Over time, the land which was formerly Morrowind and Akavir became known as Asia, while the remains of Tamriel became known as Europe. The continent of Yokuda, resurrected and warped by the Dragon Break, became known to us as the Americas, while Pyandonea was renamed Africa._

_Civilization had suffered greatly, in the years after the Dragon Break. People who were neighbors but days ago seemed to be miles apart. It took ages for Skyrim to connect with the mainland again. The current Greybeards at the time, along with our great master Paarthurnax, cast a spell upon the Throat of the World. They used powerful words of Draconic that even today He would not divulge, separating the mountain from the land, rending it from the confines of space. It exists within a fold of space, a rip in the dimensions that could only exist because of the Dragon Break. No cities existed for years, all buildings obliterated in the warping of the world. People wandered, drifting from land to land, until the start of known history, when people gathered again across the world in river civilizations, the first of which was the great and powerful land of Sumer. The rest may be learnt in the history textbooks._

…. In Alistair, Kinbok do faal Mudozaan, 530 AD (circa. 15E 10)."

Harry finished reading the scroll, his throat scratchy from all the speaking. This was a common task for him, having to read a text in draconic while translating it out loud into English. This was one of the longer texts he had read, though. He was only ten years old.

Bjorn smiled, and handed Harry a glass of water. "Good job, boy. That was very long. I must ask, though, do you understand, now?"

Harry nodded, grinning. He had asked earlier in the week why some texts referred to lands such as Skyrim and Cyrodiil, on the continent of Tamriel, while others were in the continents he knew, and countries he could find in a textbook. Instead of answering plainly, Bjorn did what he always did, and found the appropriate text for Harry to read, making it a lesson in-and-of-itself.

His musing was interrupted by the doorbell, a chiming sound interrupting the amiable silence that had fallen after his reading. Bjorn bid Harry to open it with a wave of his right hand, his left hand holding his wand aloft. A flick, and all the inherently magical artifacts were hidden, either stored away or made invisible by latent enchantments.

Harry ran to the door, which was sturdy and made of oak. He recognized from his studies several runes of enchantment on the door itself, enough to make a frost troll struggle with opening it. There were some benefits to knowing a language which literally shaped reality, after all. He opened the door, knowing that there were protective wards over the door itself which would keep anyone outside the door from harming him.

An old man stood there, with a short grey beard and long white hair that fell to his shoulders. He was wearing what could pass for proper mundane clothing (a tee shirt and pants); alongside a trench coat which would pass unnoticed in the Wizarding world. They were all grey and white, mainly, with some curls and spirals trailing through it. What drew Harry's attention was the dragon-on-a-mountain symbol on his shirt that was the unique symbol of the Greybeards.

Harry bowed low, as was respectful. He _was_ their student, even if he evidently hadn't met all of the Greybeards yet. "_Drem Yol Lok_, _In_. I welcome you to the House of Stormhold. I am Harry, of clan Potter, one who holds the dragon blood, student to Master Bjorn. Please, enter."

The man smiled, and nodded away the bow, stepping into the threshold.

Harry blinked, suddenly short on breath. The war drums at the back of his head, which beat slightly whenever he met a Greybeard, suddenly erupted into full song. He struggled for a minute, trying to calm down, and mute the song.

_What _is_ this_, Harry wondered. _Whatever it is, I've figured out that it reacts to those who know the Thu'um. That much I can tell, from hanging around the Greybeards so often. But _this!_ I've only felt this once, and that was with…_

"… Master Paarthurnax?" he ventured, hoping he wouldn't make a fool of himself.

The man chuckled, and spoke. His voice was harsh and guttural, though not to the extent of inhumanity. However, Harry could still recognize it as the voice of Paarthurnax, though it was muted and human, as it was processed through human vocal cords instead of draconic ones.

"I had almost forgotten about the _Lovaas_, young _Sen_. I should have remembered that it would proclaim me as not mortal. Tell me, what do think of mine disguise?" He spread his arms wide, chuckling slightly as he did.

Harry goggled, impressed and shocked. "But… How? You're a dragon, aren't you?"

Master Paarthurnax raised an eyebrow. "_Zu'u Dovah_, Harry, a change in form will never change that. Draconic comes naturally to you. Can you think of no words which could cause this, if put to the use of _Thu'um_?"

Harry frowned, pondering the question. As he did, Bjorn entered the room, to see what was taking his apprentice so long. He caught sight of Paarthurnax, and bowed deeply. "Master, I will admit to not believing the elders when they told me of this, but there is no denying this. I can feel your draconic soul, especially as Harry is here, and his blood is crying the Song out to any who are sensitive."

Harry exclaimed suddenly, just then. "AH! I have it. _Slen Jul Vuldak_, or _Slen Jul Muriiv_, both would work."

Paarthurnax nodded, responding. "Well done, _sen_. It is the former I have used, though, as you say, both would work. I discovered this shout after much introspection ages ago, when I wished to walk among mortals to hide my presence. I call upon _Slen_, or Flesh, to signify that which I am altering. I use _Jul_, or Man, to show what form I use. _Fahliil_ can be used for the form of an elf, though not many exist nowadays. _Vuldak_ is Change, and so my form changes into that of man. The opposite shout is _Slen Gestin Meyar_, which translates to Flesh, Release, Self."

Bjorn visibly ponders the words for a moment, before nodding. "Yes… I see. Wow, that's quite useful. Could it be used to take the form of a _Dovah_, Master?"

Paarthurnax laughs, before replying "Indeed, my young student. Though learning to fly is a hassle for those not accustomed to it, and the _Lahzey_ would mistake you for a wyvern, and take you to their enclosures. I would advise caution, and a lot of open space away from the mundane. The forest which we met young Harry here would work."

Bjorn and Harry grin, instantly deciding nonverbally what to do next summer. Paarthurnax chuckles at the look of glee on their faces, and speaks.

"Enough. I have come hither to instruct Harry on the _Lovaas_, and to aid him on the usage of the old magic, as I have to all of the students of the Greybeards."

Bjorn looks at Paarthurnax in surprise, before nodding. "Of course, _In_. There is a practice room downstairs, shall we go?"

* * *

Harry sat down on one of the chairs in the practice room, which was a large room that, dimensionally speaking, was larger than the house itself. He had been down here once or twice before, mostly to grab something that Bjorn had left down here.

Paarthurnax cleared his throat, and spoke. "Harry, what do you know of the _Lovaas_, or Song?"

Harry was puzzled, and said as much. "I know many songs, but I get the idea that's not what you mean."

Bjorn laughed, and shook his head. Paarthurnax was the one to respond, however, looking vaguely amused. "No, _Sen_. The _Lovaas_ is a calling, a tune that affects all with the _Dovah Sos_. It affects both all and none of our senses, a primal chant that urges us to our primal nature. It is akin to a song, and is called such, except that we can not only hear it, but see it, smell it, taste it, and feel it at the same time. When it sings, our very blood and soul cries out."

Harry realized then that must be what the war drums must be. Paarthurnax seemed to gleam some acknowledgement from Harry's face, for he continued. "It cries out to us, usually in the presence of another _Dovah_, or more specifically anyone who possesses the _Dovah Sos_. We can usually feel each other's presence through the Song, if we try. It is not only limited to crying out upon _Dovah_, though. The Greybeards, who walk amongst me, and were taught the _Thu'um_ by me, can be felt, if only slightly, due to their connection with me. The Aedra, and Daedra, and those bearing severe influences from either, cry out to the Song, as well."

Harry nodded to show his understanding, and Paarthurnax smiled gently. "Release your hold upon the Song, child. Bask in it, and understand it. Do not let yourself be consumed by it. You do not have the _Dovah Sil_, for your soul is mortal. You can survive its call, without being drawn to battle."

Harry then breathed out, closing his eyes reflexively. The Song, which he had been keeping a mental hold on, released itself, drumming a war chant of primal aggression and energy. He felt it course through him, every muscle in his body twitching as his very blood called for battle. He could _feel_ everything, his very senses overloaded from the power of the Song. Harry's eyes were closed, and yet he could see things. Chief among them was a bright flame, pulsing in the darkness, taking the shape of a dragon. _Paarthurnax_, he realized. He felt Paarthurnax in front of him, the Song a loud tempest in his presence. Beside the dragon, under the shadow of a wing, was a small orb, a tiny thing almost unnoticeable in the sheer glory that was a _dovah_. Harry realized that this must be Bjorn, for the Song was barely noticeable, but the feeling was recognizable from the year he had spent in the man's presence.

Paarthurnax spoke, his voice sounding through the shadow. "Impressive, youngling, I can feel your actions. Now, open your eyes, and look upon the world."

Harry did as instructed, and looked at the pair. Paarthurnax was in front of him, smiling gently. Harry could feel him, though. His presence was shouted out to his mind, the Song chanting loudly from the old dragon's direction. A smaller chant was coming from Bjorn, who was looking interested in the dialogue.

Paarthurnax gave a small laugh, and spoke. "Well, young Harry? What do you feel?"

Harry responded, basking in the song. "Like I hadn't understood what it meant to sense something, before. I feel like I must have been blind and deaf, ignoring the call of the Song before. Wow."

Paarthurnax nodded, visibly pleased. "That is how it should be. You hold the blood of a _dovah_, even if you possess the soul of a _joor_. You are _kiin_ (kin), and should learn to feel as we do. Now, reign in the _Lovaas_. Having the battle-blood is not conducive toward our next lesson."

Harry nodded, for he was eager to learn real magic. He took a calming breath, and the song faded to a chant in the background, easily ignorable.

Bjorn smiled, and took over the lecture. "Harry. What have you learnt of magic, from your studies?"

Harry responded dutifully. "Magic is the manipulation of the real world through intent, by utilizing magicka. In older times, magicka flowed here from the sun and stars, which were conduits to the realm of Aetherius. However, after the Dragon Break, magicka can also be drawn from the earth at several geographical regions known to the greater world as ley lines. Magicka is the energy of all living things, and can be harnessed in many ways."

Bjorn nodded, pleased. Paarthurnax spoke. "Good, you know the basic theory. Now, what the older texts will fail to mention is what is commonly referred to as the magical core. Modern theory places it as the source of magic, which increases steadily during puberty until the magical age of maturity at seventeen, where it stops growing, and stabilizes. They know that it can be of varied size, but are uncertain to the cause, though the current political ideology professes blood as the cause. However, we know the magical core as the connection to Aetherius inside all of us. We can all hold a certain amount of magicka inside of us, which we draw from the air, sun, and stars. This can be increased in many ways lost to modern wizards, including shrine and amulet blessings, along with certain potions that have fallen out of common knowledge."

Harry, who had been jotting this all down on a notepad he kept with him at all times, nodded. Paarthurnax smiled gently, and instructed Harry to close his eyes. He did so; and breathed deeply, causing the Song to fade even more.

Teacher Bjorn spoke, his voice reverberating in Harry's mind. "Good, good. Breathe in, breathe out. I will now send a tendril of magicka toward you. Feel it? Good. Now look inside of you, and find something similar. Can you find it?"

Harry reached inside of himself, looking for the magicka that he had sensed. He almost… had it…. Oh.

Wow.

He _pulled_ with the magicka he had, and directed it toward his palms, as his teacher instructed. Harry opened his eyes, and held out his hands.

His hands were illuminated with a soft blue glow, pulsing ever so slightly. Bjorn smiled, speaking merrily. "Well done. Let it dissipate now, though. Raw magicka is irritating to mold, even for an experienced wizard. It'd be irresponsible for me to make a preteen do so. Remember that, Harry. Trying to mold raw magicka can cause very powerful shockwaves, if you don't have the right skills or equipment. This is especially true if it hits any other source of magicka. Now, let's have you learn a basic spell. _In_, would you do the honors?"

Paarthurnax nodded, producing a book out of a small pouch on his side. Harry had no time to ponder how that worked, as the book was as big as the pouch, easily, for he was handed the book.

The old dragon instructed him. "This is a Spell Tome, or _stav deykel_. It was a relatively common item, back before the Dragon Break. Its' creation is not difficult, in truth, but the knowledge of how to do so was lost from common Wizarding folk many years ago. It passes on the memory of the writer in how to cast the spell, allowing you to instantly gain knowledge of the spell in question. The book then disappears into dust, as it contains no memory and is thereby useless for everyone. Master Bjorn can teach you later how to form them, if you so chose. Simply open the book and let the knowledge flow into you. It is not unlike the sharing of Shouts, though less instinctual. This particular tome contains the basic spell _Candlelight_, which produces a small hovering light for roughly a minute."

Harry nodded, and opened the book. Instantly his mind was filled with knowledge of how to cast the spell. A simple Alteration in the world, by manipulating magicka to form a light source which will exist for a while before the World corrects itself and deletes it. He simply had to _shape_ his magic like _that_, and _change_ it like _this_.

His musing was interrupted as the book disappeared in his hands, literally fading away into nothing.

Master Bjorn urged him. "Go on, try it."

Harry nodded, and cast the spell. He felt his magicka reserves drain a little, and his light source appeared, floating by his head in a soft blue-white light.

"Well done, Harry." Paarthurnax almost literally beamed, but suddenly grew serious. "I will leave you several Novice level tomes, but I urge you not to practice without Master Bjorn's say-so. You are not yet 11, and have clearly not reached puberty. The connection to Aetherius does not stabilize until roughly then, and can lash out easily. It is called accidental magic in this age, and it is as good of a term as any. There is less danger with innate magicka manipulation at a low level like this, where you simply turn the magicka into the form you want, but I wish to warn you none the less. When you practice magic, Harry, please _su'um ahrk morah_. Breathe and Focus."

Harry nodded, committing the warning to memory, trying to imitate his master's solemn attitudes. Still, he was only ten, and couldn't help his grin surface.

He could do _magic_!

Bjorn and Paarthurnax shared a look, and said the same thing almost as one.

"Oh, dear..."

* * *

**Authors Note:**

_Well, that was a fun chapter to type. As promised, here is the Draconic / Dovahzul that was not translated in the chapter proper._

* * *

_In Alistair, Kinbok do faal Mudozaan_ – Master Alistair, Leader of the Greybeards

* * *

_There was surprisingly little that didn't get translated in chapter, this time around. Anyway, I hope I meshed the two worlds together well enough, please inform me if you find some fault or logical error. I'm fairly knowledgeable about geology and plate tectonics, so yes, I know, this isn't how the world was. Still, let's just hand-wave that little bit away, shall we? Perhaps the geologic record is based off the Dragon Break, and how the world was populated by the Nine. As for the magical systems, they've been meshed quite well in my opinion if you're good at reading between the lines. Otherwise, just wait a chapter or so for Harry to visit Diagon Alley and get a wand. There'll probably be an exposition there._

**As always, please read, review, and recommend! **


	4. 4 - Prakem ahrk Tinvaak

**Authors Note:**

Drem Yol Lok, dii braan joor_. Hello, everyone. Ashtheking here once again, with the next update. I'm sorry for the lack of an update; I had a very busy weekend, and could only find time to work on the chapter recently. The quarter is ending this week for me, so I've been really damn busy. To top it off, I'm starting to develop a bit of a sickness, and that's never fun. So I'm afraid you'll have to take a rain check, as I promise I'll release an omake for Year 7 at some point soon, to make up for the lost week._

_Now, let's move on to the story itself. I've been asked some very thoughtful questions, and I'll do my best to answer them without any major spoilers. Now that the warning has been given, if you don't want to hear any, just skip ahead to the story proper._

_My first question, by the wonderfully-named _Shinkicker_, was about Dumbledore, and whether he'd realize something's up about Harry. Truth be told, I'm a bit wary of old Dumbledore. He's a shrewd guy, and a master of manipulation and reading people, even without adding in magical mind raping. So I'd have to say that while it'd be easy to make him paranoid enough to know the situation at the Dursleys, I'd say he won't suspect anything until the Troll scene, which I've got planned out already. In addition to his question about Dumbledore, _Shinkicker_ has also asked about the Dragon scene in _Goblet of Fire_ (not _Prisoner_), but I'm going to have to decline answering that, though if you read the text carefully, you might pick up some hints._

_My next question, by the insightful _Lady Salazar_, asks about the Beast folk, such as the Argonians and the Khajiit. I'll add to the list "Orsimer", "Akaviri", and "Maomer", and title it "_The List of TESV Races I Forgot About_". Thank you for bringing it to my attention, as I hadn't really considered it much apart from an "oh yeah, they exist". I realize that I do owe it to my readers to explain, and I'll attempt to give more information about them in the coming chapters. That being said, I'll tell you here and now that they exist in smaller numbers, in the harder to see places, and that magic holds ways to disguise one's features, allowing them to blend in with humankind._

_A friend of mine pointed out I should have a disclaimer, so here it is._

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material. The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, and all things related to the Elder Scrolls universe belong to Bethesda Game Studios, and Bethesda Softworks. I do not, and will never own them. The character of Bjorn Stormhold, along with any others introduced later, however, is my intellectual property, and should not be used without my permission. Certain of the scenes in this story are from _Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone_. I trust the intelligence of my readers to recognize them when found.

**As always, please read, review, and recommend!**

* * *

_**Faal Sen Voth Dovah Sos**_

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but 4 Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed.

Today was a joyous day for the Dursley family. The reason why would be evident quite soon, as the patriarch of the family, Vernon Dursley, rapped sharply on the door of his nephew's room. "Get up! Now, boy, you're needed at the stove!"

Nearly a year ago, Harry Potter was moved from the Cupboard under the Stairs to the second bedroom in the house, owing to the fact that Harry had secured a job working for a Professor of Oxford. The Dursleys were afraid (and rightly so, though they were ignorant of his knowledge) that it would reflect badly on their family as a whole if it got out to the professor accidentally that he lived in a cupboard. As such, he was moved to Dudley's second bedroom, and treated slightly better than before he met his teacher.

While it was true that Bjorn Stormhold was indeed a professor at Oxford University, teaching classes in Ancient History and Societies, he also belonged to a rather exclusive life-long organization. Known to the mundane world as the Society of High Hrothgar, a group of history professors and enthusiasts who dedicated their lives to learning and collecting information about the past, and were quite selective in their application process, it held a far older and more distinctive name. To the more esoteric sections of the world, this organization held a name which once struck awe and reverence into the hearts of all those who heard it, both for their actual and attributed prowess and mysticism. It was, and still is, known as The Greybeards.

You see, Harry Potter was no normal ten year old boy. He was the student of Bjorn Stormhold, in the arts of the Greybeards, most specifically magical lore and draconic. He was also a wizard in training, though he really only knew a few spells, all Novice level, as he was too young to really learn anything else.

He cast one of these spells at his uncle's voice, lighting the room instinctively with a low level _Candlelight_ spell. A soft white glow illuminated the room, illuminating it in lieu of Harry reaching a light switch. He groaned softly, and slumped back down onto the bed, tired.

On Friday, the day before, he had gone through his weekly combat training with Master Stormhold, learning how to use a sword, and incorporating some spells into that. It was not that severe, but taxing to a young boy like Harry. As such, Harry was still tired, both mentally and physically. He knew that his Uncle would get mad, however, if he stayed silent, and so responded.

"Yes Uncle Vernon, I'll be there quickly!"

He then rolled over, and got up slowly. Master Stormhold had trained him more harshly than most weeks, as he was gone until Monday, and so Harry couldn't be trained on the weekends for the full day, like normal. This meant that this week would have less instruction, as Harry did have to go to school, even if he first went to, and came back to, the Stormhold residence. Master Stormhold was going to a meeting of some sort for the Greybeards, something to do with a new member or some-such, and as such couldn't mentor Harry over the weekend.

* * *

Today was Dudley's birthday, apparently. The date had slipped Harry's mind, as he was rarely home nowadays before curfew, and spent maybe an hour or two in the Dursley's presence. It worked out well for both of them, but it meant that things like this were forgotten.

_I might have even given him a present, if he had told me_. Harry was joking, of course, but Dudley _had_ been nicer to him, no doubt on the order of his parents. "Harry Hunting" was no longer a favorite activity of his gang, though that might be because Harry was now agile enough to evade them.

Regardless, Harry watched with a sort of benign amusement and twisted jealousy as Dudley tore through his pile of presents, whining at the supposedly small number. _I get a fifty pence piece from the Dursleys for my birthday, and he whines about _that_ many presents?_

Harry had learnt under Master Stormhold for nearly two years, now, and had gained the sort of "monk" mentality the Greybeards proscribed to. As such, he was a lot more mature for his age than most, and didn't really care about the presents the Dursley's gave for him. That being said, a part of him was still a malnourished (if not as much as before), unwanted, and somewhat abused child. Harry had read enough to know that much about himself. And that part of him wished that someone loved him that much.

For all that Bjorn Stormhold was enthusiastic and energetic, and took joy in seeing friends and coworkers happy, it must be said that he is not that skilled in acts of care and devotion. For the most part, Harry thought of him as a favorite uncle, and most assuredly his favorite mentor and teacher, but he was not a father figure, as much as Harry knew what a father figure was.

So Harry stood there, focusing on cooking, and almost missed his uncle's statement. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked, surprised.

Uncle Vernon scowled, and responded. "You're coming with us, boy. I won't have you here alone, and there's no one to take you now that the professor's off for the weekend."

* * *

Harry had never gone to one of Dudley's parties, apart from that camping trip a while back, mainly because the birthday boy didn't want him there. Unfortunately, there was no other option, as Ms. Figg had broken her leg, and Professor Stormhold was off at Oxford for the weekend.

Dudley had whined and thrown many a tantrum, but there was no getting around it. So Harry sat in the back seat once again, sandwiched between Dudley and Piers Polkiss, as they attempted to beat him into submission while Aunt Petunia wasn't looking.

It didn't work that well, of course, as Harry had taken stronger injuries when training with Master Stormhold, but it did hurt.

As they arrived at the Zoo, Uncle Vernon took him aside, and informed him in no uncertain terms that any funny business (which Harry took to mean accidental magic), and he'd be locked away until Christmas. This didn't include Master Stormhold, of course, as they didn't want to make a bad impression, but pretty much everything else, including breakfast and dinner, were off the table.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in here, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a dustbin – but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils. "Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge. "Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned, shuffling away. Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself – no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's.

_It winked._

Harry stared, not knowing of any species of mundane reptile that would do that, and not recognizing it as magical. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching, not finding any. Unsure what the proper procedure was, he looked back at the snake and winked back.

The snake jerked its head towards Uncle Vernon and Dudley, and then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly: _I get that all the time._

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him, not to say anything of _understanding_ him. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously. Harry blinked, shocked. Unsure of whether he was just imagining it, he asked tentatively, "Can you… understand me?"

The snake raised an eye ridge, and nodded once. Harry leaned back, astounded, as nothing in all his studies had implied that snakes were _sentient_. He read the sign hanging on the wall, and suddenly felt sympathetic. He felt sorry for the snake, really. Before he had met Master Stormhold, he was stuck in his cupboard for most of his life, but at least _he_ was able to explore the house. Making a split second decision Master Stormhold would no doubt scold him for later, he asked a question.

"Do you want to get out, perchance? It must be awfully boring, being stuck in there for your whole life."

The snake looked excited, and nodded fast. Harry shifted, moving closer as to make sure no one saw what he was doing. He gestured silently for the snake to move back.

Taking a deep breath, he concentrated. Spell chains like this were hard, as they had to repeatedly cast the only spells he knew, which were Novice level, and still challenging for someone his age to use do to the unstable nature of his magical core. However, magic at its core was about imagination, and intent. The greater the challenge, the more will required. In an alternate universe, Harry Potter had removed the entirety of the glass on the snake habitat with a burst of accidental and uncontrolled magic, without really knowing what he was doing. What Harry wanted to do here was far less impressive, and he had received training in using magic, and could actually cast the spells that were needed to do so, and he _wanted_ for it to work. A simple application of both the spells _Flames_ and _Frostbite_, which are two Novice level _Destruction_ spells, and… there!

Harry gestured to the relatively small section of glass he had superheated and then rapidly cooled. "Break through here, the glass will be really weak. Let me just stand back a bit."

The snake nodded, and coiled itself. Suddenly Harry was pushed aside and to the floor, as Piers Polkiss gave a loud shout which startled both of them. "DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE _WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley rushed over, and Harry looked at the snake and nodded. _It would be nice_, Harry mused, _to get some payback for what Dudley had done over the years, without Uncle Vernon being able to blame me for it._

The snake nodded back, and coiled, striking rapidly at the pane of glass right by Dudley's face. Dudley, startled, moved back a bit. The snake shook its head and tried again, shattering the glass with its second attempt.

People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits. Dudley's face had several light cuts on it, due to the glass, as did Piers. Even Harry had a small gash, from where one of the pieces had struck him. The boa slid by Harry, and reared its head, as if it were about to strike.

Harry tensed slightly, as the snake _was_ a predator, even if it normally ate rats and other small critters. He didn't have to worry, though, as the snake opened its jaws and _spoke_.

_[Thanks, amigo.]_

Harry was shocked, but managed to respond despite that. _[No problem.]_ As he spoke, he realized that he was speaking another language, in a similar fashion to Draconic: As if it were English, until he himself realized the difference.

Now that he knew, he realized his _actual_ response was a collection of hisses, much like what a snake would sound like. Before he could do anything but realize that fact, the snake nodded and slithered away toward the entrance, scaring the security guard as it did so.

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. "But the glass," he kept saying, "We paid good money for that glass."

* * *

Ultimately, that incident was judged not to be Harry's fault, as it seemed that the snake had simply broken through some shoddily made glass. The zoo director had apologized personally to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and offered to pay for any injuries caused by the glass.

Harry, however, was more interested in the odd language he had instinctively spoken to the snake in. He pored over his notes, looking for anything he might have missed in his teachers' lectures, waiting for Monday with a fever, so he could ask Master Stormhold.

_It could be the fabled language of the Argonians_, Harry mused, looking at his notepad. _Except that I'm no Argonian, and they're not exactly human, after all. I think I'd know if I had scales and claws. And they're native to South America and the Amazon jungle, and rarely venture beyond there in any case._

Harry had tried speaking it again, and could, with some practice, but it was odd, and he kept reverting to English as he went on. _I suppose I'd have to find a snake to try it out again. Pity I haven't learnt any _Conjuration_ spells yet, I'd love to be able to summon a snake right now_.

Sadly, while Harry had learnt many Novice level spells from the spell books he was given, it was decided by both Paarthurnax and Master Stormhold that the forces of Oblivion are not to be called upon by a ten year old, no matter how mature, and that raising the undead is not something done in polite company.

* * *

Master Bjorn Stormhold returned at approximately 11:00 on Sunday night, and rested for the remainder of the night until roughly 8:30 in the morning, where he was almost run over by an excited ten year old.

"Master Stormhold! You're back! _Drem Yol Lok._ I have a question to ask you." Harry babbled excitedly.

Bjorn raised an eyebrow, and responded. "_Drem Yol Lok_, Harry. I ask that you focus on the first word, and have some _peace_. Calm down. What is your question?"

Harry concentrated, and spoke again in the snake tongue, as he called it. _[What is this language, Master?]_

Bjorn looked shocked, and shook his head slightly. "Is that Parseltongue? I never knew that was a trait of the Potter family. Odd, it'd have come up once or twice before it was."

Harry tilted his head slightly to the left, and asked curiously. "What is Parseltongue, Master? I've never heard of it."

Bjorn nodded, answering the question. "Parseltongue is the language of the serpents, and shares many similarities with the Language of the Hist, as you may have guessed. As far as I know, the language came about ages ago, when an Argonian servant of the local Dark Lord taught his master the basics of their native tongue, which was then used in a ritual to confer intelligence to the Dark Lord's favorite serpent. It backfired, as far as we can tell, and conferred intelligence to every serpent which he interacted with, via his magic, but left them otherwise normal. The trait was passed down in his blood to his descendants, and was lost to time. There are a few famous serpent speakers, many of whom have given the language a _Dark_ connotation. I'd refrain from using it public, if you can."

Harry nodded, and wrote it down in his notepad. It was charmed to never run out, and for the pages never to wear or tear, and would only display its notes to Harry, or those who Harry allowed to look. Master Bjorn was on the list, as were the rest of the Greybeards, but no one else. The pad, like a lot of stuff that Harry had obtained from Master Stormhold, had the insignia of the Greybeards on it, a stylized depiction of a _Dovah_ flying over the Throat of the World.

Master Bjorn drew his attention, speaking sharply. "Now, how did you find out about your affinity for serpent speech?"

Harry considered the fact that he had used magic unsupervised, _in public_, for no reason other than a sense of shared loneliness for a potentially dangerous animal, and _shuddered_, considering that Master Bjorn was more severe in training when annoyed. _Maybe I should've just left the snake in the cage…_

* * *

**Authors Note:**

_Well, there's the chapter, and it turned out nicely, in my opinion. I re-wrote a bit of it once or twice, trying to make Harry's thought process and interaction with the snake believable, and this is the best I feel I'll get at this time. Next chapter, Hogwarts! Incidentally, there was _no_ draconic in this chapter, as odd as it might be. There won't always be any in a given chapter, but I'll certainly try to make one or two new words, if I can make them fit. Harry doesn't talk much, mostly to his mundane relatives, who he obviously can't speak Dovahzul around. There was a possibility of putting it into his interaction with Master Bjorn, but I decided against it._

_I hope you liked the chapter, and I again apologize for the lack of a chapter last week. I look forward to your reviews, everyone, they're all quite excellent, and very heartening to a writer, as it means that people like his work. I favorite/follow many works that I think are marginally okay, but reviews are only for the best fanfics._

**As always, please read, review, and recommend! **


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